Spring begets summer and memories of home

Tuesday

Apr 25, 2017 at 1:40 AM

By SUZANNE SWEETEN / Staff writer

I took my youth for granted growing up in rural Arkansas. We lacked city amenities, so the forest surrounding my home became my daily playground. My school district opened the gymnasium to its children over the summer break, running a bus to pick up children living in the Ouachita Forest foothills, but children like me (I lived nearer to the school) walked to the school gym, alone or sometimes I met a friend halfway and we trekked on together. I spent my time jumping on the trampoline or playing badminton, volleyball and basketball, socializing or being tormented by adolescent boys. I played for hours and walked home on unpaved roads. In my recollection it’s a special memory of summers filled with memories.How strange that the mundane aspects of our past lives invoke warm fuzzies. The things we recall when something we see or hear instantly transports us to the past. For instance, my family’s television set produced a black and white picture and, before the advent of cable, we used an antenna to receive signals from Little Rock. Arkansas had only three stations – KARK, KTHV or KATV. In order to obtain clear reception, someone (usually me) went outside to turn the aluminum pole in different directions. Mama or Younger Brother (YB) stood beside the open window yelling, “To the left, more.” I twisted the antenna until a clear picture popped up, my duty to my family done for the evening.Eventually we got “rabbit ears,” which sat atop our TV with aluminum foil wrapped around them.The new antenna was so “uptown” and I didn’t have to go outside in the dark anymore, hurray.We got our water from a drilled well and often in the winter our well pump froze. Daddy tromped out into the cold to put a heat lamp on the pipes to thaw them out. In the summer our shallow well went dry during periods of drought. Our supply of water corresponded directly to the amount of rainfall and many nights Mama rationed enough water to basin bathe our faces and we washed our feet from water taken from the tank of the toilet. Glamourous, huh?Summer months meant we left the windows open 24 hours a day and drifted off to sleep listening to the attic fan. If I close my eyes, I can feel the coolness of the breeze blowing and see my bedroom curtains fluttering up from my windows. I loved how cool and crisp the sheets felt against my skin and how they smelled so sweet, fresh off the line. Lying in the dark, I promised myself when I grew up, I’d keep the attic fan on all night long.Mama and Daddy planted our garden the first weekend after Easter. Daddy borrowed a mule to plow the big garden out back near the woods. I remember Mother explaining why Daddy called out “Gee” and “Haw” to the old mule.Plowing is hot drudgery and Daddy was soaked in sweat. Mama delivered Daddy ice water along with a towel, and he halted the mule long enough to drink deeply out of the jug. He poured the water over his head, whipping out his pocket comb and in two or three swipes combing his wet mini-pompadour back into place. I asked Mama once why I couldn’t deliver Daddy’s water and she whispered, “It’s my way of letting Daddy know I’m grateful. He works hard for all of us and I want to show him my appreciation.”Mama canned the garden’s vegetables. I’ve watched her shell purple hull peas until her fingers bled and helped her cut bushels of corn off the cob. She made up huge quantities of vegetable soup, tomato juice, sliced okra for freezing and dozens of jars of strawberry and blackberry jelly and pear preserves. Mama stood in the heat of the kitchen all day, surrounded by boiling water, the steam wafting up around her, using her apron tail to wipe away perspiration. Mama’s act of love fed us throughout the year.Daddy’s summers were tough. He left his day job at “The Mines,” to go directly to the farm and feed the cows and return home to tend the garden until dark. Summer was hay baling weather.Daddy and Older Brother (OB), along with many of my male cousins and a few high school boys, toiled in the blazing sun, tossing square bales of hay onto a flatbed trailer, stacking the bales one on top of another. Daddy worried so much about rain during those precious few days. I didn’t understand why and wasn’t old enough to recognize the hay he treasured fed his own cattle and the excess he sold to other farmers. Daddy provided for us in many different ways.The prophetic adage “Youth is wasted on the young” is true. Each spring I grow homesick for Mama, Daddy and my life with OB and YB and my extended family, who reside as saints in heaven. I regret not thanking them properly.Mama and Daddy were tireless in providing for and nurturing our small family. I cherish my small memories, like the sound of an attic fan and the feel of clean sheets. Aluminum foil on a set of rabbit ears makes me glad, as do my summers spent playing in the Arkansas heat and humidity. Indeed, I was blessed to be taught how to live The Sweet Life.